The Drug I Can't Give Up // A Brallon Fanfiction

Chapter eight /

TRIGGER WARNING:
This chapter contains things that some readers might find triggering, including body image and self-harm.

**A/N: hello there and thank you so much for 100+ reads!! :-) I hope you are enjoying the story this far, because I'm truly enjoying writing this!
But, is it too much if I update this everyday? Should I update less often? Please tell me what you think! Anyways, here's chapter eight. xx**

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The rest of the tour moved slow. About three weeks had passed since the drunken night I spent together with Brendon and he had barely even spoken to me. All we had exchanged was awkward, barely audible hello's and he only talked to me when he absolutely had to, which wasn't very often.

It was almost time to go back on stage, for what felt like the billionth time. I wish I didn't have to. Mostly because so much had changed in just three weeks, and I hated every second of being on stage now.

Brendon didn't touch me anymore. He didn't gaze into my eyes, smile at me from across the stage, or randomly slapped my ass. He wasn't even close to me anymore.

He was, the first two concerts after that night, but it didn't last long and wasn't intimate. After that, he stopped completely and when he did, my excitement for shows disappeared. I felt like a robot throughout every performance, like I just played my bass and was the backup vocals. That was my job. My only job.

I wanted him to talk to me. Say, that he hated me. Tell me how much he regretted spending a night with me, how disgusting I was. Anything. He could shout at me, yell at me, point his fingers at me and tell me to fuck off. Just not this silence game the both of us were playing, because it was driving me insane.

I wanted him to tell me if he wanted me out of the band. I didn't want to receive the news on the last day of tour, even though I was prepared that I would. But if I wanted him to tell me anything at this point, I had to start the conversation.

And I could. But what would I tell him? That I loved him, that I wanted him, needed him in my life and that the night I spent with him was the best night of my life even though I only remembered half of it?
No. That wasn't on my bucket list.

Luckily, after this show, we only had three more shows to play. And even though I probably would get fired from the band, it was better that way.

During all these years I'd imagined a life together with Brendon. Living in his house, eating dinner with him, watching movies and cuddling in bed.
I'd built up a fake life that I somehow started to believe myself.

But it wasn't real. None of it. He'd never love me. He'd never stroke my hair or kiss my lips, hold my hand or smile at me over a romantic dinner.

And it was probably better that way. He could never handle someone like me. A depressed boy whose arms were filled with scars, each one with a different story. The boy who breaks down at night, wishing he could love himself the way everyone else do. The boy who wants to please everyone else, but never gets anything in return. The boy who doesn't like to change in front of people, because he's ashamed of his body, even if everyone keeps on telling him how beautiful he is. The boy who hates himself, but puts on a fake smile because he doesn't want anyone to worry about him.

Me and Brendon weren't meant to be. And I had to let go of him.

But deep down I knew I couldn't do that. I knew this boy was the love of my life. He was my only reason to stay alive. To continue, everyday. And I knew in less than three days, all that could be taken away.